


The Letter

by Heylir



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heylir/pseuds/Heylir
Summary: Benjamin Thackerey receives a letter from his parents. Between "No Rest for the Wicked" and "Green-Eyed Monster".





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Письмо](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339432) by [Heylir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heylir/pseuds/Heylir). 



> We know little about the Thackerey family, and it is only my guessing about relationships of Ben and his parents.
> 
> This translation was made by the author. I'd be grateful to be informed about typos and mistakes found, in order to fix them.

    Already the third time in that day, Ben went out to check the mailbox, and now he returned with a large envelope in his hand.  
    "Is it your parents' reply?" asked Wolfe.  
    "Yes," Ben cut the envelope neatly and put the letter out. He glanced it over, and his face fell a bit.  
    "Bad news?" Wolfe looked worried.  
    "No, the news is good. They sent me a guarantee, now I'm going to the Bank for getting a loan. It takes an hour or two."  
    When he left, Wolfe looked at Mal, "Do not you think that Ben is upset with something?"  
    Mal shrugged, without a word.

    O'Malley was sneaking to the kitchen. In the middle of the night, he suddenly got hungry and decided to have a bite. Too lazy to alight a candle, he groped his way around. As he opened the door, he got a sight of a barely visible spirit outline.  
    "Ben?" he asked, surprised. The spirit flashed with fright for a moment, then it changed into annoyance.  
    "O'Malley?! You made me... What are you doing here?"  
    "Th' hell **ye** doin' here?" O'Malley struck a match. "Sittin' in th' bloody dark?"  
    Ben put a candle before him, and its little flame lit the kitchen poorly.  
    "Can you see auras without light?" he asked, with curiosity.  
    "I can hear yer pantin'," O'Malley snapped. "Why're ye playin' a night owl?"  
    "It just happened. I recalled that I left the stove dirty, so I had to go downstairs and clean it. Then I got a little break."  
    "Why in th' dark?"  
    "It's no use to burn a candle, only wasting money."  
    O'Malley looked up over Ben's head where a deep sad-colour faded into colourlessness. He had seen that picture before, but never in this house.  
    "Sumthin' wrong with yer folks?" he asked roughly.  
    "With whom?"  
    "With yer **parents** , if proper English ain't fer ye."  
    "No, they're fine. With one _little_ exception," Ben said sullenly and stood up. His spirit got even bleaker.  
    "Look..." O'Malley didn't know what he was going to say, but Ben squeezed past him silently. In the door, he turned around and say good night.

    In his bedroom, Ben opened the letter again.

_Our dear son,_

_We are happy to hear that you are doing well. We hope you don't work too much and allow to enjoy yourself sometimes. It would be good for you to..._

    He skipped a few lines.

_We are doing well, too. We received a letter from your brother and sister recently. They wrote, they have got their promotions with their wages raising and they even started to save money. Feel free to ask them for advice and help, they had a few acquaintances in Widdershins that may be useful for you. You know that you aren't going along with people, to say nothing of making business contacts._

    Ben turned the leaf over.

_You write you don't work alone any more, but you don't tell us anything about your colleagues. It troubles us a little. You know that you are a bad judge of character, and remember how many times people have misused your confidence and reliability. Please be careful, Benjamin._

    He smiled bitterly.

_We send you a guarantee that you ask for. Don't worry, we are well-to-do and we can allow paying for it if necessary. You are our son, and we'll always support you. Of course, it isn't a steady state job, but your own small business is fairly well, too, given the limitedness of your resources. It is very good that we have raised you to be easily satisfied. When business problems begin, you must consult with us. We are your parents, don't be afraid to disappoint us. We are ready for your failures; ones can't prosper in life so much as others._

    Ben closed his lips tightly, as in a sheer stomachache.

_P. S. Your brother and sister are going to visit us at Christmas, and we would be happy to see you as well. But, in your present circumstances, it would be unwise to waste money on travelling. We will send you a remittance, spend it on something you really need. We trust your prudence and thrift._

_Your affectionate parents._

    Ben folded the letter, took hold at its edge with his both hands and clutched his fingers for a moment. Then he dropped it on the table. He approached the window and rested his forehead against the glass. "Twenty years, all the same," he whispered. "Whatever you did, however hard you tried..."  
    Like a heavy wadded quilt, an overwhelming apathy covered Ben. All his wishes, thoughts and feelings changed into indifference. Of what use were they? Of what use was his own self?  
    He lifted up the window, letting the cold air in the bedroom, and looked out. In the black sky, stars were twinkling faintly, in the same indifference to everything. The sight sobered Ben, gave him back the ability to look at things from the right perspective. A bit from above and a bit from far.  
    What had happened, actually? One more letter from his parents? He received them every month. The guarantee papers, what is important. Now he would buy and reconstruct the house, his own house, where he would live and work in his own way. On his own — with Wolfe and O'Malley, of course. He should talk with them about reconstructing...  
    Ben's eyes fell on the clocks. Half past one. It's no wonder that all kinds of rubbish get in your head. The night is the time for sleeping. He shut the window down, put the letter into the envelope and closed it into a box on a shelf. He got into his bed, already unmade, and pulled the blanket on himself, reflexively recalling all good things of today: the call from the stationery shop, gone really well, the new issue of "Warlock"... and he and O'Malley have not yelled each at other all the day... At this thought he finally fell into sleep.

    And in the kitchen gloomy O'Malley was smoking his fifth cig already.


End file.
